


Leftovers

by livinginthepast



Series: Leftovers [2]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Pre-Meeting, an idea I had previously Expanded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinginthepast/pseuds/livinginthepast
Summary: Waste collection isn't a glamorous job, but it's one that serious people take seriously.The fated bin man AU that is an extension/update of'Before 9AM'





	1. Small Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This idea really plagued me, especially since I didn't feel like the first version fulfilled what I'd wanted to do with it. In any case, this is 'Leftovers' (title thought of when my flatmates decided to throw glitter all over the floor for a birthday and leave it there for weeks). The beginning is a re-written version of the first bit so if it's recognisable that's why.

A clatter of loud machinery with strange clashing metallic parts travelled to Vince’s window. He regretted keeping it open last night, despite how warm it had been when he’d got in at three in the morning. Maybe that was just because of the cocktails. He groaned into his pillow, attempting to fall back asleep was as unlikely as it was impossible. He rubbed his face crumbling flecks of eyeliner and glitter across sharp cheekbones which blended with the soft blanketing of the duvet. His fingertips then moved towards his fringe to try and stop it sticking upwards like an odd kind of towering hat, as it tended to do after a long night.

“C’mon, small eyes, move it, we need to get to the next street.”

“I’m going. I’m going.”

Howard had recently given up his original dream of trying to make it as a jazz musician and travelling poet and instead gravitated towards something which felt more palpable – something real men did. He didn’t want to parade and flounce around anymore pretending to be an artist when the rest of the world had already moved on from straits of funky bebop, slap bass and odes of cream. Rubbish didn’t move, unless his crew moved it. He felt like a proper member of the team rather than somebody floating about at the background of the party, like some kind of shadow dweller. Being a bin man meant he mattered.

Vince bounded down the stairs in a t-shirt and pair of black drainpipes he’d grabbed off his fashionably adorned wooden floor. He’d brushed his teeth and got his hair looking an approximation of normal as quickly as he did for Christmas morning – the excitement of what had awoken him was far better than Christmas, and much rarer.

“Wait! Stop!” He held his arm out to try and get the attention of the tall curly haired, hat-wearing guy who was stood holding the handle part of a brown bin. Brown suited him.  
“Are you a bin man?”

“Um, yes?” Said the awkward man letting go of the handle and shoving his hands in the pockets of his fleece.

Howard was taken aback by the black-haired make-up wearing mess which stood before him trying desperately to get the group’s attention. Perhaps he’d accidently thrown away something important or sentimental to him, Howard reasoned. He stepped slightly closer towards the person who looked like a fizzy drink about to spill over and leave a puddle of sugar water leading towards the drain. Howard moved his head slightly to the side – to signal that he was listening. 

“It’s just so cool! I’ve never seen a bin man before. I’m never up this early.”

“We’re just doing our jobs, little man.” Howard wasn’t exactly sure why the kid was so excited – most fashionable people just ignored their existence because associating with a group of people that vaguely smell of trash wasn’t a popular thing to do.

“I honestly wasn’t even sure you guys existed. You’re a bit rare, like unicorns or something.”

“Unicorns don’t exist – I doubt we could reach that level of rarity.”

“They do! My mate, Naboo, right, he cut a unicorn’s mane once and got into some real trouble with the board of shaman because humans aren’t supposed to interact with unicorns because of some strange war or whatever. But anyways, they almost imprisoned him but it all ended up being fine because Bollo blackmailed them.”

The deluded man was cut off by one of the other crew members shouting over to Howard to hurry himself up. The man looked over Howard’s shoulder and stopped retelling his story. Howard felt a little bad to be leaving when their conversation clearly wasn’t over. He tried to say goodbye as casually, like a man of action would, as possible. Vince just smiled whilst he turned in his heeled Chelsea boots back towards the shop’s back door. He opened up the strange bolted metal handle and waved over to Howard as he ducked his fluffy black head into the doorway.

Howard shook his head slightly to get rid of the slight weirdness and walked towards his crew who held up black bin bags for him to put in the back of the truck. 

\--

Vince kept his window open again, hoping to be woken up at the same time so he could catch the bin men again. He was disappointed when he got up and saw that it was already 1pm. He made his way to the bathroom to get properly ready for the day. He’d almost finished perfectly coiffuring his hair into the perfect fluffy 70s look he favoured these days when a loudly disappointed knock sounded against the door.

“When you’ve finished you’re opening the shop, right?”

“Course.”

“How long are you going to be?”

“Just five more minutes,” his tongue poked out in concentration to get those last few fly away back into place with hair wax. He washed the remains of the grey substance of his hands using hot water – he’d learnt over time that using cold water just meant he got grey sludge all over his clothes, and it was a really bad look.

He opened the door widely, hoping Naboo wasn’t still on the other side and would get crushed by his enthusiasm. He admired himself in the smaller round mirror which was among the objects Naboo wasn’t quite sure what to do with so had been shoved in the hallway to make it less boring. He made his way to the communal kitchen and living room space where he made a quick cup of tea which he took down to the shop. Standing near the till was all Naboo expected of him. Hardly anybody came in nowadays who didn’t know Naboo. Vince was too occupied with his hatred of work to realise he didn’t really get paid nor experience any sales as in a more normal man’s mind would lead to an intelligent reflection that perhaps the shop was a front for some shady shaman reasons.  
Vince wasn’t unintelligent – he just didn’t notice things which didn’t interest him meaning he had a warped naivety about the world.

One man who was not so naïve found his way to the Nabootique after an early morning at work in search of jazz LPs up and down the streets of Dalston. He’d made a chart of likelihoods of rare bebop records in different chains of charity shops but that was long finished. Red Cross came out on top. But Howard felt a wanderlust for somewhere new. Besides, it would stop the volunteers and employees starting rumours about him having a creepy obsession for recreating antiques roadshow. 

The bell sounded and Vince continued to read a really revolutionary article about women’s preference for sandalwood scents in cologne and the changes in gendered packaging for perfume meaning that they had become far more androgynous in recent years.  
He heard a clatter which was very un-Naboo like and looked up from the magazine to be faced with a man who clearly took the ironic dad fashion trend from a few years back to the maximum.

“Alright?”

“Oh, um, I was just browsing…” The man went back to searching through different racks of albums.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Vince walked around the desk over to the man, “Oh wait. No way. I can’t believe it, I recognise you!”

“You do?” Howard narrowed his eyes turning them into the tiny slits of light which get through blinds. Howard was fairly sure this was the man from the day before but didn’t really want to acknowledge that he’d taken note of somebody so clearly outside of the normal world.

“Course – you’re a bin man, right?”

“Yes. A refuse manager.”

“Whatever – you do remember me, yeah?”

“Perhaps.”

“As if y’could forget. They call me the sunshine kid. Well, they really call me Vince but I’m pretty unforgettable even without the fancy nickname.”

Howard wasn’t sure exactly how to react to the other man’s introduction, he just subtly nodded and tried to concentrate on his actual reasoning for coming to the shop.

“So, what’s your name? Otherwise I’m going to have to call you bin man every time we bump into each other which will be a bit awkward for the both of us.”

“It’s Howard.”

“Not bad. Suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, what with your whole paranoid, manly, lone-wolf, Northern vibe you have going on.”

Howard didn’t really know if that was a dig or not, he was proud of his Northern vibes, “Listen, little man, I’m well-loved for my personality. People think I’m an esoteric character with eccentric undertones.”  
He was fairly sure people didn’t think that but it was bound to be believed by Vince who looked unaware of the internal struggle he was causing to Howard’s unconscious manifesto of not talking to anyone for a pointless end.  
His brown eyes happened upon a Kid Ory composition he’d been looking for on various jazz fan forums and had yet to come across in the almost two years he was searching.

Vince noted Howard’s pause and a particularly excited look like a child allowed to choose what they wanted for pudding.  
“Did ya find something then?”

“How much would this be?” He showed the sleeve of the record to Vince who smiled and pointed casually to the artfully painted sign above the rack which read three euros.

“Oh, I didn’t see that.”

They chatted whilst Vince worked out how to open the till to get change out for Howard’s five euro note. Howard showed him how he hadn’t turned the key and need to press a button in order to get to the change. Vince thanked him profusely, not that he knew what that meant, and proclaimed Howard as really being an esoteric character, not that he understood that either. Howard promised to buy Vince a dictionary.


	2. Left, Right and Centre

During his afternoons, after a shower and a cheese sandwich (not at the same time), Howard listened to his latest recommendation from Lester Corncrake and contemplated if he should go to the Nabootique to visit Vince. The visits were tentative at first – going once every few weeks to browse the record section. They peaked at two visits a week. Once after the earlier shift on Wednesday and again on Friday after he’d finished at 3.30pm.

Howard soon realised this couldn’t be a real shop when anything he brought was never replaced by any other records. The depleted rack, he’d suggested on one of his more confident visits, could be filled with from the stockroom.  
Vince claimed he didn’t even know there was a stockroom, which Howard doubted and believed simultaneously.

Naboo heard them messing about in the cellar. Vince was joking about dusty record covers being part of the look of the shop and Howard was arguing that clean shops tended to get better sales.

“Yeah, but we only get sales from you anyways,”

“Well perhaps I’d rather buy dustless records.”

A sliver of light opened above them, shining down on the mothball covered boxes of records. They both looked towards the light at the blue shadowy figure stood above them like a giant.

“Vince?” The shadow lisped.

“Alright, Naboo!”

The small oddly dressed man shuffled down the stairs in his curly trainers, “What are you doing down here?”

“Well, me and ‘Oward were just looking for things to put in the shop since we sold some stuff recently.”

“Did we?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you?”

“No. You were pre-occupied with telling me about your new friend.”

Howard side-eyed Vince with vague surprise. He knew he and Vince got on but he’d never considered that they were actual proper friends now. His hanging out at the shop was a strange secret pleasure of his. It was nice to hear that Vince seemed to enjoy his company.  
Howard stepped into the conversation explaining how the lack of records is not enticing to the customer. Naboo offered him a managerial position.

\--

As far as part-time retail work went Howard knew his experience was definitely warped. He’d heard horror stories from his crew on the bins when they had been stuck in traffic and decided to reveal their dark pasts. One particular story, about a customer getting so angry about the store not having a particular colour of canvas bag that they’d thrown a massive strop breaking a thousand-pound cabinet, had convinced Howard for four solid years that the public were not to be trusted. With Vince by his side he found being less worried about everything was rather freeing. 

Falling into a routine of supervising Vince’s antics made him feel more responsible than he ever had. Naboo seemed more satisfied with the shop and left them to their work a lot more. Vince decorated the windows with weird Barbie dolls, feather boas and shiny materials. Howard made sure it didn’t look too tacky from the outside. Their customer base was still a small circle of Vince’s friends and the occasional lost tourist, but as long as they had maps, postcards and vintage fashion on display they were still selling things. Besides, the lack of people also meant they could talk for hours.

Howard eventually handed his notice in to the council, scared and excited like somebody moving away from home for the first time. The day he left work was bittersweet. His crew really helped him out when all his dreams had been crushed like boiled sweets under rusty hammers. But he also felt the need to move on. He finally exchanged mobile numbers with them all and promised they should meet up for strong Irish ciders one night in their favoured after-work bar, which Howard had never been to, called ‘Left, Right and Centre’. 

Vince was vaguely jealous that Howard was going drinking without him, and in a quite interesting sounding bar no less! When he’d asked Howard questions about it to avoid a stock check Howard’s hands went all clammy and he couldn’t stay still. It was obvious that he was nervous, and Vince offered to go with him as a kind of soothing presence. Howard turned into a hedgehog version of himself and went all spiky. Vince escaped into the back room to ‘do a stock check’ whilst in actuality he just dusted off the vinyl records and sat on an upturned box until he heard Howard let out enough air to fill a giant balloon. 

When he emerged, he let out a hearty “Alright,” to let the jazz poet know he was back in the room.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, hedgehog Howard is still the same Howard.”

“What are you on about?”

“Hedgehog Howard is what I call you in my head when you go all angry. But y’know it’s still you so that’s fine. Even if I do have to leave the room so you can give yourself a Chinese burn.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yeah you do.”

“How do you know? You weren’t even in the room.”

“I have eyes in all the walls.”

“What are you? Big Brother or something?”

“That show is genius.”  
“I was talking about the novel.”

“How’d they make a novel about that? I bet it’s well dirty.”

“No, I mean 1984 by George Orwell.”

The anger and weirdness dissipated into the air like the two sugar cubes Howard put in the tea he made for Vince as a gesture to display how sorry he was. Vince teased that if he was really sorry he would have put three sugars in. Howard said it was his role as a caretaker of Vince to make sure his teeth didn’t rot away before his thirty second birthday.

\--

The evening drew in like a draftsman who had forgotten how to properly hold a pencil and just scribbled across the page. Five cups of tea and a stern few critiques of his outfit later and Howard became insistent that he had to leave to meet up with his now ex-crew. He put his hat on from the hat stand, which had another creatively painted sign this time reading ‘not for sale’, and opened the door with a deep breath. A meet-up with friends. That was normal. Everything was fine and would continue to be, he repeated as a kind of mantra in his head watching the pattern of the paving slabs move across his eye line as his entire body was propelled forward by the prospect of a fun evening.  
He turned at the end of the street having memorised the map three weeks previously. He shortly arrived at a very pokey black painted doorway with a wooden sign which had white lettering confirming the worst, this was the place.

“Howard!”

“How are you?”

“I didn’t think you’d come!”

Howard looked with concern over to the group of four manly men, “Howard Moon is a man of his word.”

“It’s just we never see you out and about, do we boys? We just figured you liked to be alone or something.”

“I usually go to jazz bars,” he said cautiously, Howard was well aware of a general dislike of jazz among real men and felt a bit weird admitting he liked it.

“Oh! That’ll be why then.”

Adhering to expectations was not something that happened often in Howard Moon’s existence. Usually something ended up going awry and he ended the night fighting off a demon or a generally creepy character but this time things seemed to be normal? Maybe it was the group he was with. Real men could ward off difficult situations. Much like a parent using a torch to get rid of the monsters under a child’s bed. Howard wasn’t complaining. If these were the kind of casual friends that everyone apart from him seemed to already have then he was open to the possibility of socialising and going out more. Maybe Vince would come with him too. That’d be fun.

Five pints of cider later and Howard was fairly smashed. He’d been drunk before but it was much worse being sad and alone – it reinforced his unhappiness in a way that was depressingly tragic. Being drunk with friends was much more fun, he felt invisible, even if tiny insecurities snapped at his heels like angry turtles they would be washed away by the wave of excitement of being a part of something larger than himself. They left the pub at half past 12 to go and find a club that wasn’t just for trendy 18 year olds to rub up against each other. They paid £4 each to go to a place that was teeming with teenage lust and had a suspiciously sticky floor. Howard felt this juncture might not be for him, but continued anyway with reassurance that he was probably drunk enough to enjoy the music and the company. 

A weight lodged itself from between his shoulder blades as the night drew to a close and the people in the now hot and sticky air dispersed into the black night. The group walked out together, one of them ordering a taxi for them all. Howard lived the closest so got out first and handed over a few pounds to cover his portion of the lift.

His flat was a twenty-minute walk from the Nabootique and he couldn’t help wondering how Vince was doing as he ascended to the third floor and opened the cream painted door to his flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being 1 chapter longer than expected. Anyways, I'm back at uni now so Exams. I have bits to upload because I'm prepared like that.


	3. Cream Poetry Causation

Vince’s phone rang out in tuneful 8-bit covers of Gary Numan. He was just about to fall asleep so was a little annoyed. He didn’t recognise the number but answered anyway in a hopeful optimism that it was just a drunk friend borrowing someone’s phone or something.

He was surprised when a deeper voice than he was used to travelled through radio waves to his mobile. 

“Hiyaaaaaaa,” said the unrecognisable drunk. 

He wasn’t sure if at this point he should risk a reply so he just waited until the man, he assumed, got his composure to say what he was calling for.

“Ya number was written in a black notebook we found. We decided to ring you, so we could give it back. We’re nice aren’t we? So yeah, you missing it?”

“No?” He replied tentatively.

“Well whatever. Where’d you live? We’ll drop it off in the morning or something.”

“But I don’t know who’s missing a notebook.”

“You might recognise it, though,” Vince could hear the man shrug down the phone.

He figured handing out his address to these vaguely drunk people was no worse than what he usually did on a night out so did. Thinking nothing else of it he turned away from his glowing phone screen and tried again to settle his thoughts down so he could sleep.

The morning came without warning and he was awoken by the sound of loud forceful knocking on the glass panel of the door. Vince, in a panicked state of remembrance rolled out of bed, picked himself up and quickly ran down the stairs in his pyjamas. He really didn’t want Naboo to be awoken by his already questionable antics – he’d only get a lecture on the trustworthiness of others.   
He unbolted and unlocked the door to the large strong-looking man who was stood there looking more than a little perplexed. 

“Alright?” Vince asked trying to tame his hair a little bit in the reflection of the glass.

“Yeah, you?” Vince nodded, “Me and my friends found this last night. D’ya recognise it?”

He took the small leather-covered notebook and peered at it looking for nothing in particular.

“Sorry, mate, I don’t.”

“How about you take it anyway? I’ll feel worse if I just keep it or throw it away.”

“Alright. I’ll have an ask around. Also, thanks, I’m sure whoever’s it is would be glad to know you tried to get it back to them.”

“Yeah well, I wish you luck ‘n that.”

He tipped his head a little and shuffled away from the door. Vince re-bolted and locked the door and clambered back to bed, notebook in tow, to attempt to get another half hours sleep. He placed it on his bedside table and turned in his duvet bringing it up to his neck and snuggling it like a small child.   
His brain rejected the idea of sleep and his eyes re-opened several times like one of those creepy dolls with moving eyes. He sighed, crossing his arms across the duvet and turned to the opposite side. His vision was drawn to the small notebook. Feeling defeated, he grabbed the notebook and flicked to the first page hoping for some personal information. He was disappointed to see a page with the word notebook underlined and so looked at the next page. Finding nothing but a list of charity shops names next to seemingly random little dots was another disappointment – but one he was intrigued by. What did the dots mean? Why did somebody note this down. It was far too puzzling for 9am. 

\--

Howard was rifling through the clothes he’d left beside his bed last night when he’d crashed as soon as he got in. His journal had gone missing, and nobody, nobody sane anyway, deserved to read what was written in there.  
Once he’d gone through everything he reflected that it was probably on a random bar stool and had been ignored and trashed when the cleaners had been doing their rounds. That was the best-case scenario, anyway.

He decided to give up and start getting ready for his shift at the Nabootique. He was supposed to open the shop at 11 and needed to shower, get dressed and walk there first.

When he arrived, he was surprised to see Vince coming down the stairs. It usually took Naboo having a stern word with him whilst he was taking the normal 3 hours, after Howard had already arrived, to get ready. Howard would usually spend that time listening to what Naboo was saying or would write poems in his journal. Today, with Vince showing up so early he didn’t need to fill the time with anything and it was quite a nice change.

It was after lunchtime, where they’d eaten sandwiches which Howard had packed for himself, that Howard noticed Vince was checking nothing had fallen from his pockets whenever he got up from various chairs on the shop floor.

“What you got there?” Howard asked.

“Oh, well basically. Don’t tell Naboo because he’ll have a right moan at me, but this guy rang me last night, yeah? He asked for my address which was a bit weird but y’know it was all harmless because he explained that he’d found this little notebook with my number written on one of the back pages so rang it to find the owner. Problem is I don’t know anyone who would use this rustic leather thing.” He pulled the book out of his back pocket and Howard gawped a little.

“Can I have a look?”

“Sure, why? Do you recognise it?”

“Possibly.”

He had a quick look at the first few pages and confirmed it was in fact his journal. Embarrassment threatened to cause him to take it back and run off into the afternoon sun, but he decided against it on account of not actually knowing if Vince had read or even understood the content.

“So, you know who owns it then? Or not? C’mon I’m on the edge of solving the mystery.”

“It’s mine.”

“Oh! That explains it then. Nobody else I know would write poetry about pointy chins of cream or whatever. I was well confused.”

Howard’s blush crawled from his chin to his neck; Vince had read his poetry then.

“You’re pretty good at writing, actually. Some proper good metaphors in there. Loved the one about handcuffing the winds of passion or whatever.”

“You liked it?”

“Course, you old romantic.”

He touched the heat of his cheeks just to double check that he didn’t actually have a fever, and Vince smiled impishly at his action. Vince was in total control of the situation and although Howard felt a bit like a flannel filled with hot water he was sort of okay with that feeling. It meant something was happening. Even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was yet.

“Howard, look at me you rugged Northerner.”

He snapped his view up from his hands touching the soft worn leather of the notebook to the mop-haired, pointy toed, cream skinned man whose eyes seemed to be dancing with a strange fizzle of excitement brought about by Howard’s self-consciousness.   
He stepped forward slowly grabbing Howard forearm to steady himself.

“Was some of that poetry about me?”

“Sort of.”

“Seriously? Shit, Howard I thought it was a coincidence, like I didn’t really know it was you writing it. I mean y’know I’m not the best at all that thinking stuff but I guess I did kind of recognise myself in a weird way.”

“Um, I don’t really know..”

“Don’t look like a startled bunny, s’alright. I think it’s pretty nice. Plus, I’ve always sort of had a thing for you. I sort of convinced Naboo to give you a job so I could spend more time with you.”

“What? I didn’t get employed because of skill?”

“You did. But I may have mentioned the idea a few times.”

“Thanks, I suppose,” Howard was going to start a disagreement but considered how happy he’d been in his new job and decided against it. Besides, he didn’t really want to annoy Vince if there was a thing going on.

“No problem.” Vince reached upwards on his tip-toes to place a small kiss on the downturned side of his mouth. Howard reasoned that it would work as an apology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A finished (small) fic to celebrate my first exam being over. Also I've had this saved for quite a while now.

**Author's Note:**

> I just figured I'd mention here that I'm aiming for one more chapter for this as I have other things I want to write and finish. I'm also considering adding the previous 'part' to a series collection but we'll see once I've finished this.


End file.
